Of Constellations and Confessions
by LovelyLittleFreckle
Summary: Liz and Red hash out their feelings after their conversation in 2.14. Lizzington. Rated T for language and some heavy content. One shot.


The entire drive home felt like being in an unpleasant, fitful nightmare; she was numb, powerless, and unable to move. The engine provided that same eerie hum of white noise that clouded all her dreams. There was that clouded feeling of removal; of being near someone but still entirely alone. She felt detached and vulnerable – entirely sure she was falling, feeling every sensation but unable to control it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting another round of fresh tears sting her cheeks and parch her lips. She willed away the urge to sniffle – it was bad enough that she was crying in front of him, she didn't have to call attention to it.

Just like a dream, she felt the creeping tingle of sleeping limbs trying to warm themselves back to life. But she pushed it away. The pinching, prickling wave of emotion, the one that would crash over her when she truly let his words sink in, would only be properly dealt with once she was alone. Away from him.

As if she was ever truly away from Red.

Before today she had fantasized about a conversation where they would reveal their care for each other, but she hadn't imagined watching it happen through bleary eyes, saying it in the same breath that she used to call him "damaged", in the back of a car while he scolded her like a truant.

_But never do that again._

Those were the words still hanging in the air. She cared about him. Too much in fact. But he didn't _want_ her to. The inherent rejection in those words cut through the silence like a gun shot.

She was weary of trying to fit his care for her into some tidy box, but she didn't know how to shove this revelation into that same one. The same box that held all the memories of him saving her – from the Stewmaker, from Anslo Garrick... he would die for her but abhorred the idea of her doing the same for him. Worse than his not appreciating her care for him, he seemed to push it away and the embarrassment of it made her feel raw, his dismissal grating her heart.

But even still, she would give anything if he would just say something to her. Even if he was to yell at her, to scold her again for her savior complex, at least then she would know what he was thinking.

They pulled up to her hotel room, the one that he disapproved of so virulently. She thought back to yesterday when in that same room, his eyes had raked over her as she put on her robe, spoke to her so casually about Madeline Pratt and her abduction. She sighed, looking at the now dark window of her room, the fluorescent glow coming from others and the flickering light of TVs against floral curtains.

She reached into her coat pocket, into the hole she had torn in the lining and produced The Fulcrum, putting it on the seat between them. At first he didn't look at her and instead continued to stare out the window as he had the entire ride home like a petulant child. She cleared her throat and he looked at her with glassy eyes, red rimmed and raw. He looked as though he may have been close to tears.

"Take this," she said, pushing it toward him.

He froze, his eyes locked on the very important trinket. She had never figured out what was on it; she didn't care anymore. It didn't matter anyway if he couldn't accept her caring for him, that they protected each other. This would show him. Let the world fall to pieces; she clearly didn't know how to be a part of it anyway.

"Lizzie, you don't have to do this. Perhaps now isn't the best time to make this decision."

She steadied her chest with a deep breath, deep enough that it jutted her chin. She felt her lip begin to quiver.

"I don't know how to care about you, Red. Not if you won't let me. This is the best I can do."

Liz gathered all her strength and popped open her door, stepping out into the rain. She half expected to hear his voice call her name as she left, but she didn't dare hope for it. She didn't know what to hope for now, much less what to expect from him. The engine idled until she trudged all the way to her door and slid in her key. As the door clicked closed behind her, she heard the engine rumble away. There was nothing comforting about the electric whir of the air conditioner, the unnecessary chill, the uninviting sheen of the bedspread.

She knew she couldn't do it much longer.

She turned on the TV and got under the covers, determined to let the noise drown out her thoughts. She wouldn't think of Red. She wouldn't think about the job. She wouldn't think about how she almost died today. She wouldn't think about the fact that she might not have cared if she had… and how badly that scared her. It's not as if her life wasn't already a tangled mess that she may never be able to unravel. She would be standing trial for murder, facing quite possibly the next few decades in jail. Anything that would be done to avoid that fate would have ethical implications that she would have to live with for the rest of her life. She was backed into a corner with increasingly few ways out. But slowly, the spiraling fear and hurt became too much and eventually became a jumble, easily drowning itself out. Soon her tears, slick on the pillow case, gave way to sleep.

But she was jolted awake an hour later by a knock at the door, the alarm clock flickering red at her from the nightstand. She wrenched back the covers and tugged on her jeans and an errant t-shirt. She pulled her gun from the bedside drawer and went to look out the peephole, clicking off the safety.

And there it was. _That fucking hat. _

She pulled the door open, not bothering to unlatch the chain.

"What do you want?" she asked, keeping her chest carefully behind the door. She was sure that the thin shirt she was wearing would leave nothing to the imagination.

"I came to make sure you were alright, you seemed upset earlier," he said, seeming genuine.

"Did I? Did I seem upset Red?" she hissed. "Do you think maybe it was because you were giving me the silent treatment in exchange for me saving your life?"

His only reaction was the twisting of his lip, a frustrated blink. His jaw flexed and bulged while he chose his words.

"There is a chance that your room is under surveillance," he said, matter-of-factly. "If you come out to the car, I would like to offer you an explanation."

She blinked back the residual clash of adrenaline and sleep that was clouding her thoughts.

"Fine, give me a minute," she said, closing the door and putting her gun back in the drawer. She pulled on a hooded sweatshirt and threw her tear-matted hair into a loose bun. "Let's go," she said, pushing past him as she closed the door behind her and he followed her down the rickety metal stairs to the car. He opened the back door for her, and as he walked around to the other side she noticed that there was no one in the driver's seat. They were alone.

He took off his hat, shaking off the rain and placing it in his lap.

At first, it was silent. Their words from earlier were still hanging in the air, almost as though they were a scent or a sound, impossible to ignore and nearly tangible. It was still too raw. All the emotions that she had tried to drown in sleep came flooding back, prickling her eyes with tears. She looked straight ahead, scared to confront the proverbial elephant in the room… or more accurately the herd of giant emotional elephants that had gathered over time, all threatening to stampede at once.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed his movement as he placed the Fulcrum on the seat between them as she had. She looked into his eyes in disbelief – he was handing back his key to freedom and placing it back with her. She frowned, her silence now the product of shock.

"Something you said," he said, his voice gritty from emotion. He spoke slowly, carefully. "It resonated with me. You said you didn't know how to care for me. I worry that I don't know how to care for you either."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Lizzie, are you familiar with the Greek myth of the Seven Sisters?" he asked.

"What, like the constellation? Pleiades?" she said, her voice hoarse and confused. She rubbed her eyes, clearly needing to prepare herself for another one of Red's parables.

"Yes. In Greek mythology, the seven stars of the constellation represent seven young girls. It states that they were the seven daughters of Atlas and Pleione, innocents, placed in grave danger by a chance meeting with Orion. They were hunted mercilessly to the ends of Earth until the gods decided to turn them into doves and place them out of harm's way in the sky. Fate resulted in their being to be sent into exile where they were safe, but entirely alone, in a form unrecognizable to those who pursued them but also to themselves."

"What does that have to do with you and me?" Liz asked.

"The night of the fire, you were taken away from all that was familiar to you. Your identity was changed and you were placed far away from harm, isolated. Cared for and safe… but alone. In the dark." His voice was starting to break, tears welling in the corners of his eyes.

"By you." Liz said, in a whisper. "You were the one who saved me, weren't you."

Red stared at her, trying to communicate something without having to speak. His eyes darted back and forth, searching hers for forgiveness. Desperate for her acceptance.

"I need to hear you say it," she said, feeling a squeezing twist in her chest. "Tell me the truth, did you bring me to Sam that night? To protect me?"

"Yes," Red said, his lips turning down sharply, his chin quivering. "I kept you safe, I saw to your spot in the sky and kept it warm and protected. In my young, idealistic naivety I thought it was best for you and maybe it was. But I isolated you… kept you from ever knowing who you were, from even questioning it. So don't go on thinking that you are the only one who doesn't know how to care for someone, Lizzie. We obviously want to keep each other safe, but in the end we both risk too much, we hurt each other. You could have died protecting me today. And it would have been for naught because I cannot live in a world where you are not safe."

"What are you saying?" she asked. "That if I died, you'd do what? Kill yourself?"

"I've never thought of it any concrete terms, but if you died and I was responsible I wouldn't be able to go on."

And his words came flooding back to her. _What are they going to do; kill me? None of it is worse than losing you._ She began to choke, her throat closing with a sob threatening to rack her chest.

"And you think that if _you_ died, I would do what? Throw a party? You saved me from that fire. You've _kept on_ saving me. It's what you do when you care about someone; make sure they are safe." She pushed the Fulcrum back toward him to punctuate her point. It seemed as though he didn't even see her do it.

"We both watch over each other," he said. "But your sacrifice earlier, saving my life when yours was in danger, was something of which I am not entirely sure that I am worthy. But I don't want you to feel as though it meant nothing to me. Perhaps it meant too much."

"Thank you," she said. "Red, I know you are conflicted about the fire, but you shouldn't be. I am alive because of you, too. We don't need to apologize to each other for the fact that we're still here. Let's give each other a clean slate from here – just accept that the ends justified the means."

"Alright," Red said. "And that's why I am giving this back to you. I trust that you will give it to me when the time is right. There is no need for you to give it up before then. The decision is entirely yours, Lizzie, and I don't want you to make it until you are absolutely certain I deserve it. I know that nothing I say will convince you that my interest in you lies outside of The Fulcrum, so actions speak louder than words. It needs to be earned. I won't accept custody of it until I have done so."

"It's yours, you've earned my trust," she said, thrusting it toward him. It meant his safety, his life. Their slate was clean now, The Fulcrum was his. It was nothing to her.

"I am willing to keep my life in your hands, Elizabeth."

"You don't need to, what if something happens to me," she said, growing hysterical. He needed it. His life depended on it.

"If you aren't here, I won't need it."

She looked at him in disbelief. He was willing to die for her trust.

"I don't need that control," she said. "I don't have any control to begin with when it comes to you. Remember what you said about love, that it means having no control? So I don't need it. Take the Fulcrum, Red, please. Just take it." Tears were streaming down her face now; she was scared of what it would mean if he didn't want The Fulcrum.

"Are you-," Red started, his eyes also brimming with tears. "Are you telling me that you love me, Lizzie?"

She had said it without thinking, but she knew what she felt. It was such a fact of her life now that it was like breathing. She loved Raymond Reddington. And she would protect him with her life, just like he would for her. That was their agreement.

"I'm telling you that I love you," she said, placing the Fulcrum in his hand and closing his hands into a fist. "I love you, Red. Just take it."

His eyes darted from their clasped hands to her eyes, then slowly to her lips. It was all the invitation that Liz needed. She grasped his shoulders and pulled him into a fevered kiss, both of their lips slick from tears. Red's shoulders relaxed under her hands and he pulled her closer to him, a low growl rattling his chest. Their hands fumbled, his in her hair and hers pulling in handfuls of his jacket. She inhaled the scent that was uniquely Red, the spice of aftershave and the delicate balance of parchment and salt air that settled into all his clothing. She wasn't sure where their kiss ended and words began but between their lips, she found herself pleading for him to take the Fulcrum, and she heard his voice assuring her that everything would be alright.

And that he loved her. Like she loved him.

And in the end, that would be enough.


End file.
